Beneath the Skin
by Tolly
Summary: Being a Skinwalker in a Pokemon world is pretty tricky, what with Pokeballs and everything. Being a Mixblood isn't much easier, an instinctive fear on the part of humans leading to ostracism and creepypasta all over the Unova 'net. Yet somehow people find each other, and happiness comes in the strangest of packages. Eventual Yaoi.
1. Prologue

**Beneath The Skin**

_Sorry to all those following Song and Silence – I've completely lost my muse of Reinette, which is sad because she's adorable. When she comes back I'll update, I swear._

_In the meantime, enjoy this Unovan Skinwalker tale._

_Much love and hugs to my beloved brother eagleoftheninth for the plotbunny that started this all and being a wonderful sounding board for plot and characterisation._

_I don't own Pokémon, I don't own the Subway Bosses (pity), I don't own Unova, I don't even own the Drifloon, I just own copies of B/W and B/W2 and a cute little blond called Len._

.oOo.

**Prologue**

The life of a retired Gym Leader would probably seem quite dull to someone who hadn't actually been a member of the Unova Pokémon League.

Victoria had been the Striaton Gym Leader for almost thirty years before retiring, her extensive collection of Ghost-type Pokémon able to pose a solid – but not undefeatable – challenge to trainers of all experience levels. There had been nothing better than watching a challenger overcome their own limitations to provide a magnificent battle.

Still, thirty years had been more than long enough, and now she was settling into her new home in Lentimas Town, the surprisingly warm air of the mountain a balm to her aging bones and a local ghost population focussed mostly around an abandoned mansion an easy walk from her house.

There was even an extensive Drifblim population, a clan that floated in and out of the area according to a pattern she hadn't worked out yet. She was watching a small family group now, several males clustered protectively around a female who was holding an egg protectively close to her body.

Even as she watched the egg started to quake in the firm hold, rocking violently and almost managing to escape completely before the mother dropped from the sky in a panic, coming to rest in the bushes in her untended back garden. She moved from the side window to the back for a better view, keeping inside for the time being. There was a chance that they'd take flight if she emerged yet, and this was a rare sight indeed.

The egg rocked back and forth violently, and as she watched cracks started to appear all over the sleek purple-grey surface. A tiny yellow heart-shaped hand emerged first, flexing curiously for a long moment before pushing at the shell.

A second hand followed, and moments later the shell gave out entirely, falling away in fragments to reveal a tiny Drifloon, so small it could easily fit in the palm of her hand. It blinked around at the world curiously before letting out a loud crooning cry, floating up off the remnants of shell and brushing shard from the tuft of fluffy whiteness on its head.

It was incredibly rare to witness the birth of a wild Pokémon, and even rarer to see the birth of one of the notoriously reclusive Drifloon species. She doubted that she would have had the opportunity had the house not been unoccupied for so long before her arrival.

The Drifloon let out another loud cry, and she recognised it as one of hunger. Well, it wouldn't hurt to work up a little good will with her local Ghosts! She had more than enough poke-food formulated for ghost types to hand, so she filled two large bowls and made sure she made plenty of noise coming out of the house to avoid startling them.

Even with her caution, the Drifblims pulled back as one as she approached, prepared to leap up into the sky at the slightest provocation. She held the bowls out and moved slowly, bending over to place them on the ground and then backing away. The adults eyed the food cautiously, but to her delight the newborn crooned and threw itself at the nearest bowl, clumsily wrapping its hands around one of the squares of food and pushing the corner into its tiny mouth, gnawing away enthusiastically.

It look a little while, but the 'floon's enthusiasm eventually caught on, and the food was devoured quickly. The Drifloon, bulging a little and sated, leaned against its mother and crooned happily. It seemed to be a signal, and the knot of ghosts swept upwards into the sky.

A tiny little yellow hand waved at her from the protective circle of it's mother's arms, and Victoria glowed.

Hopefully she'd see the little dear again.

.oOo.


	2. Chapter 1

_Victoria is awesome to write for. More so than I expected. I will have to keep this in mind._

_Merry Christmas everyone, and a special hug for the awesome eagleoftheninth, for whom I pushed this chapter through on Christmas Day for. I hope you like the present!_

_Again, no ownie Pokémon, just owning Len._

.oOo.

**Chapter One**

The pale youth with dandelion-fluff hair ran as fast as he could, bare feet leaving bloody smears on the rocky ground. The ruined old house was not far now, but he could hear the whistling calls of the Drifblims following him.

His clothes were old and battered, a shirt that had gone out of fashion almost forty years before and shapeless workman's pants, both of them moth-eaten and speckled with small holes and stains of unknown provenance. The only items he carried that wasn't battered by age and use was a simple metal chain around his neck, an Everstone in a cage of wire hanging from it like a holy symbol, and a bundle of soft violet held close to his chest in a death grip.

He let out a high-pitched noise when one of the calls sounded closer than he had expected, almost completely inhuman and full of panic. A series of low hums echoed from the old mansion, Banettes and Litwicks peering through windows and floating through walls to watch the chase.

"Help me!" he screamed, pushing himself harder as a Shadow Ball boiled down on him from above, sending a small fountain of shrapnel into the air. Several of the largest Banettes hummed angrily, floating out from the mansion and gesturing angrily at the knot of Drifblims chasing the youngster.

Within moments there were Shadow Balls and gusts of Ominous Wind flying back and forth like a particularly menacing thunderstorm, and in the chaos the youth flung himself through the door and slammed it shut, collapsing to the floor in a heap the instant it was fully closed. His grip on the purple bundle stayed tight, knuckles bone white from the force of his hold. Tears streaked his face, cutting through a thin layer of dust that clung to him.

Eventually the commotion outside died down and the mansion's Ghost Types started trailing back inside, the Banettes humming and purring in smug satisfaction at having driven off the Drifblim clan. In normal circumstances the Drifblims would have kept well away from the old building, unwilling to bicker with the large number of ghosts and psychic Pokémon who made it their home.

The boy lay there for a long time, curled protectively around the purple bundle, long enough for the cuts and grazes on his feet and legs to dry and start to scab, his tears quickly drying out but little trembles running through his body for a long time afterwards. Several of the Litwicks hopped to his side, crooning softly and poking gently at his body with their tiny, stubby hands.

"'m okay," he finally said, his voice raspy and soft. "Safe now." Even though the Drifblims had chased him to the door of the old mansion, they would never dare to follow him inside; the residents simply wouldn't allow it, and outnumbered them greatly into the bargain. It was why he had chosen this place to run to. Certainly it was a good enough answer for the Litwicks, who cooed a few more times before hopping off to return to their own business. He shivered a little at the loss of the warmth of their flames, and slowly uncurled to stand with several winces and hisses.

"I think I know what shoes are for now," he told a watching Banette, who burst out into harsh rattling laughter and flew away into the depths of the mansion, returning a few minutes later with a battered old pair of loafers that it dropped on the boy, who only avoided being smacked by them through sheer luck. "Thank you. I think."

He limped further into the mansion, following a familiar path up the rickety old stairs towards the rooms where the once owners of the place had lived long ago, the haunting grounds of the sad little girl who didn't know how to move on. Now that he wasn't being chased and the natural highs of fear and exertion were wearing off, he was painfully aware of how cold it was. There were beds there, old and dusty though they were, and with a little effort he might be able to cobble together a nest of blankets and sheets that weren't in too terrible a state.

Although he'd visited the old mansion many times over the last couple of years, enough that the resident Pokémon had accepted him as one of their own, he'd never really explored the upper level. The ghost girl ruled the floor, haunting her old rooms and the corridors, but she too seemed at least tolerant of his presence, and if nothing else there might be slightly less shredded clothes stashed away somewhere.

He caught a glimpse of the little girl's ghost as he made his way towards the old rooms, but she didn't seem worried by his presence, which was likely as close to a blessing as he was going to get from her. There was an interesting smell coming from the rooms at the end of the hall, quite like the aftershave used by some of the older men in Lentimas Town, and it drew him forward.

The door opened with only a soft squeak, and the youth was instantly hit by a sense of _presence_, of the imprint of someone who had lived in the revealed room for most, if not all of their life. A tall bookshelf dominated the room, filled with novels and sea charts and medical journals. Paintings and photos of boats and the ocean covered the walls, and the wall above the bed played host to a massive photograph of a ship's crew in front of a sleek destroyer, the men all strong and resplendent in their uniforms.

Curious, he moved further into the room, feeling unaccountably warm despite the cold winds howling outside. He could almost hear a voice, on the very edge of his awareness, an echo of an echo of an echo, urging him to stop walking around with his feet in such a state. Definitely not a ghost, nor a haunting of a typical sort. An imprint, left behind by someone who had lived long and well and moved on without regrets.

He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes, his grip on the purple bundle loosening a little as he opened himself to the impressions left behind. He felt the faintest hint of a reassuring hand in his hair, the echo of an echo calling him a reckless little thing. He yelped and jerked at the feeling of hands touching his feet, but within moments the ache faded, replaced by a pleasant numbness.

A navy doctor from a destroyer, that was different! The Unovan navy was mostly trading ships in the modern age, the few warships the region had were kept in top condition but almost never used for anything other than patrols or exercises. But there was a hardness to the imprint, the inner sorrow and anger that almost always came from seeing the horrors of death and battle up close.

He didn't want to disturb the room too much, to risk ruining the amazing imprint that the strong old doctor had left behind, so he carefully stood and smoothed the bed out once more. The pain would return soon enough, so he had to make the most of it while he could. Hopefully, though, he'd find something halfway useful in the cupboards, maybe an old shirt or something.

The cupboard doors swung open soundlessly at a single touch despite the thick layer of dust that had somehow managed to get through the sheets covering everything. There was nothing but a box in there, an old flat box made from a pale wood that felt smooth and slightly slick beneath his fingers. He opened it carefully, peeling back layers of thick white cloth to reveal an old jacket, a deep navy blue with brilliant brass buttons.

It held the imprint of the doctor's presence even more fiercely than the room, almost a physical thing. He unwrapped it slowly, fingers trailing over the heavy waterproof wool – Mareep, if the faint tingling on the edge of his senses was any indication – and caressing the buttons. This was a fine coat, one meant to be worn on the deck of a ship and still be presentable at the Captain's Table for a formal meal.

"Forgive me, sir," he whispered to the presence, and pulled the coat around himself. It was soft and so, so warm, warmer than anything he'd ever worn in his life. The bundle fell from his hands unnoticed as he burrowed into it, crooning happily at the heat and softness.

There was a gasp from the doorway and he looked up to see a familiar old woman standing there staring at him, her eyes moving from his face to the empty Drifloon skin lying unfurled on the floor.

"...I swear I can explain."

.oOo.

_Merry Christmas everyone! Next chapter up just after New Year with any luck._


End file.
